


Chain Reaction (but you're holding the fuse)

by glorious_clio



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Anger, F/M, Gen, Grief, I demand an apology from Dave Filoni, coming to terms, my poor darling Hera has been through so much, oh my gosh what have I done?, waking nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: Grieving the loss of her partner and their youngest ward, coming to terms with her unplanned pregnancy, fighting off dreams she doesn’t want, and oh yeah, being a leader in a burgeoning rebellion, General Hera Syndulla can’t seem to catch a break. Luckily she’s got friends who are trying to help. And maybe someday she can get a good night’s sleep.





	Chain Reaction (but you're holding the fuse)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes (at the beginning): Thanks to ladyarcherfan3 for betaing _while at a Con_. I imagine while she was in her Leia cosplay. 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own! 
> 
> _I was a firecracker, baby, with something to prove_  
>  _Now I gotta contend with the living blues_  
>  _I could've missed it, I never knew_  
>  _Chain reaction but you're holding the fuse_  
>  -Sylvan Esso, “Die Young”

“So now you’re _not_ coming out?”

Zeb stood just under the wing, calling up to Hera. He panted in the heat - Yavin 4 was humid and Zeb hated it. Chopper hated it here too. Sabine’s whining would be the loudest, if only she wasn’t on Mandalore.

Hera didn’t feel it, not really. The heat and humidity rolled off her, as if she was made of ice. She was up on the starboard wing of the _Ghost_ \- ostensibly scrubbing away some carbon scoring from their last run, but mostly just going through the motions.

“Nah, I changed my mind. I’m gonna finish this and grab some sleep.”

“Suit yourself. Alexsandr and I will be there if decide to come.”

Most folks were in the mess hall, such that it is. The pilots were throwing one of their parties, trying to keep morale up.

“Have a good time,” Hera said, wringing out a rag and returning to the scoring.

She scrubbed at a mark; it melted under the water and cleaning agent. _Karabast_ , she was tired.

Zeb shrugged and turned towards the mess hall, his footsteps died away.

Chopper was below, recharging on his dock. She’d like to plug into something herself, get a little jolt of power. Hera tossed the rag back in the bucket and wiped her hands on the pants of her flight suit. She leaned back on her elbows and tried to breathe.

She could see three of Yavin’s other moons from where she was sitting, the whisper birds were nearby, singing their quiet songs.

Hera ran her left hand up to her right shoulder, wrapped her right arm around her middle. There was a swell there, one that she can’t hide. Won’t hide, not now.

But she was so _scared_.

Which was not a useful emotion.

“Kanan,” she whispered. “I needed to tell you something.”

The only sound she could hear was the whisper birds. When her brother died, she used to think that the birds would carry messages to him, wherever he was. She didn’t believe that anymore.

She’d been so close to telling Kanan. And instead she told him ‘I love you’ - which she’d told him before. He knew that. If only the interrogation droid hadn’t muddled her brain so much; if she had been clear headed, she might’ve been able to find the words. ‘I’m keeping you,’ she might have said. ‘I’m keeping you _both_.’ But maybe ‘I love you’ wasn’t so far from, ‘You’ve changed my life for the better, and now you’ve done it again -- there’s going to be a _baby_.’ It was terrifying.

She hoped he’d known about the baby. After all, he had something that he needed to tell her too, but they were too busy being shot at to actually have a conversation. Maybe he could have known through the Force, but there wasn’t anyone left to ask, what with Ezra--.

Her hands tightened on her own body, seeking comfort. In response, the life in her rippled. This was pretty new, the quickening. It was weird. There was a literal alien baby in her, like some bad horror holo. But she loved them so much already, whatever was going on. That was scarier than the alien part.

“Alright, Spectre -7, I know.”  Only half-alien, at the end of the day.

Hera went back and forth on isolation. In the morning, she was desperate to get to her command briefing, supply meetings, whatever was on the agenda. But as soon as the door closed and she was in a room with other people, all she wanted to do was leave again. She floated around the _Ghost_ , feeling like the Spectre her call-sign was. Sometimes in the common room or her bunk or the cargo bay or the cockpit. Advancing to and retreating from the people trying to care for her.

She initially agreed to go to the party tonight, and then thought she wanted to be alone, but now she wasn’t so sure again. Maybe she wanted to be around people who knew. Mind made up, at least for a minute, she hauled herself across the back of the _Ghost_ , down the hatch. She put the cleaning supplies away and let Chopper know she was going to the party after all.  

He chirped a reminder of the substances she needed to avoid, and an admonishment that she really should recharge her own batteries.

Hera rolled her eyes and touched his dome. “Thanks, Chop.”

She popped into the galley. There were dirty pots and pans in the sink; Zeb had made some stew the other night. Hera grabbed a ration bar and fled from memories.

Dragging her feet and munching on the bar (they tasted so bland after years of Kanan’s cooking), she brushed another hand over her bump. _Here you go, kid. Probably nothing in here can hurt you_.

This kid was so tough already, they’d been through the ringer together. That was a weight too, but all of the medscans looked good so far. Nothing to worry about, except the mix of genetics that will hopefully turn into a twi’lek/human baby. It was hard to say even how long she would carry them, the meddroids were watching for development milestones, supplementing her food intake and making sure she was healthy enough for this pregnancy.

Hera stopped right before the temple and swallowed the rest of the bar. She steeled her courage and stepped into the hall that was too loud, much too loud. There were long tables and clusters of people, large and small. There were pairs and trios flirting in dark corners, and in the front, a dj table. Zeb was leaning against the makeshift bar, chatting with Kallus. Neither of them had noticed her. Wedge and some of the other members of Phoenix were mingling with the members of Green Squadron - nice of them to color code their flight suits.  

She was about to leave again -- a party wasn’t going to make her feel less lonely -- when Wedge caught her eye and waved her over.  

Hera nodded and obliged him. It would have been graceless to do anything else.

“Fearless leader!” Wedge joked. “Welcome. What are you drinking?”

Hera felt her brow lift.

Mart cut in. “Right, right, someone get the General a pitcher of water!”

Someone scurried off, and Hera found room on a bench next to someone in Green Squadron who appeared to also be drinking water. She was a human, dark skin, warm brown eyes, long dark curly hair that looked crimped in places like it had been taken out of a tail. Hera sat down heavily next to her.

“Tired, General?” she asked.

“I’ll be alright,” Hera said. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I remember those days, ma’am.” There was something knowing in her voice.

Hera turned. “I don’t think we’ve met - I’m Hera Syndulla.”

“Shara Bey,” she replied. They shook hands.

“I’m not going to stay very long,” Hera said glancing around. “But I thought I’d make an appearance.”

“We can duck out together,” Shara offered. “I have to go nurse.”

Hera smiled. Shara smiled back. Something unspoken passed between them. Hera didn’t know anyone in the Rebellion who had carried a pregnancy. This felt like a revelation. She rolled her shoulders back, suddenly a little less fatigued.

They stayed a bit longer, listening to the other starpilots boasting about their exploits. Hera popped a few egos with some well placed quips that no one would remember tomorrow.

Finally Shara stood, Hera got to her feet as well.

“Rebel Mamas are _out_. Play nice with the other squadrons,” Shara said with a teasing salute.

Almost no one was paying attention, but they still got a few drunken waves.

As they slipped out, Hera found relief in the quiet. They didn’t say anything as they made their way across the landing pad; Hera listened for the whisper birds again.

They paused at the _Ghost_ and Shara broke their silence. “I don’t know if this is out of line, General, but. If you ever wanted to... talk. Well. It’s hard. I’m ...around.”

Hera felt something settle, maybe it was the constant fear hitting a pause button. “Yeah. That would be.... That would help, I think.”

Shara nodded once, offered her a little wave, and walked off to where she had parked her speeder. Hera watched her go, then headed up the ramp to her bunk.

 

***

 

She is up on the starboard wing of the _Ghost_ \- ostensibly scrubbing away some carbon scoring from their last run, but mostly just going through the motions. The heat and humidity rolls off her, as if she is made of ice. She’s listening to the whisper birds; there’s probably a briefing she needs to go to, or a party, or a battle. She isn’t sure.

And then the whisper birds start to say her name, “ _Hera Hera Hera Syndulla_....”

She shakes her head, blinks her eyes, takes off her goggles and cap so she can hear properly. Night is falling around her.

“ _Hera Syndulla,_ ” the voice says again and it’s not whisper birds at all....

“ _I’ve got you, Hera._ ”

Kanan!

She woke with his name in her mouth, breathing hard as if she’d been running. With a groan, she fell back against her bunk. Her eyes were already wet with tears, and by now, Hera knew better than to even try and fight them. She let the storm of her grief wash over her, waiting for it to ebb.

Tired still, but awake, Hera pulled herself out of her bunk. The first order of business was the medication for her nausea, a full glass of water, then her prenatal vitamins. She gathered some semblance of an outfit together and ducked into the ‘fresher.

One comforting shower later, she looked a little better. Still exhausted, but at least her eyes weren’t rimmed with the aftermath of her tears.  

Sighing quietly, she padded into the galley.  

“Zeb! I didn’t wake you, did I?” He was standing over the sink, scrubbing at the dishes from the other night.

“Nah,” he lied easily, looking back at her. “Caf?”

“I wish,” she said and settled for some decaffeinated tea. Zeb went back to his dishes. She worried her fingers over her swell as she drank. Her mind drifted, skipping around in the fog of her brain. Not thinking about anything particular, just trying to ground herself in her own body. Breathing deeply, drinking something warm, hand on the baby, tucked where she could keep an eye on them. They were safe in there, safe as she could make them. So not very safe at all, considering.

Aaaaand there was the terror again.

More deep breaths as Zeb settled a few more pans to air dry, drained the water and turned around. He passed her the bowl of fruit. “What’s up for today?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t checked.” Hera shook her head to clear her spiraling thoughts. Her datapad was in her cabin, and it was still early -- earlier than anyone had a right to be awake, even the rest of command. She dug her hand through the fruitbowl and found a jorgan fruit. No meilooruns.

“Well, I know what _should_ be on your agenda.” He popped a few greenberries into his mouth.

“What’s that?”

“New flight suit.”

“It still zips!” _Karabast_ , when had he gotten so protective, by the way? When had she let him? It was almost irritating.

He chuckled. “Not for very much longer,” he predicted.

She frowned around a bite of fruit.

He wisely didn’t continue, and instead decided to fry some eggs that she managed to eat, even though he’d put way too much pepper on them.  

 

***

 

When, exactly, had the mighty warrior Garazeb Orrelios learned so much about any sort of gestation? Because sure enough, within a few days, he was right about the flight suit. Hera couldn’t zip it one morning. It had been getting tighter, but apparently Spectre -7 had grown just enough to push it from “laughable” to “impossible.”

With a sigh, she dragged herself over to the Base Exchange, ready to beg, borrow, or steal a new set.

Only to be told that it wouldn’t be possible by an uptight G-D3 droid.

“Come on, you have to have the next size up!”

“General Syndulla, you know flight suits are tailored to fit each pilot exactly. But our resources cannot accommodate a growing pregnancy. Most beings do not become pregnant, and those that do accept maternity leave and are grounded much earlier than this.”

Chopper had his taser out at the word _grounded_. Hera massaged her temples.

“So you don’t have any extra ones lying around that someone has outgrown? An emergency one?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He didn’t sound afraid though, more like a fancy butler in a bad holo.

“What about Lieutenant Bey?”

She could almost hear the whir of Deethree’s datafiles.

“Lieutenant Bey was placed on maternity leave as soon as she announced her pregnancy.”

Double blast. She’d have to spend more time in command instead of leading in the field. Or in the _Ghost_ without a flight suit. Not ideal, but not out of the question. She already missed her X-wing.

“Fine. Thank you, Deethree.” She turned to storm out, Chopper at her heels.

“My pleasure, General,” Deethree called after her.

So what if she couldn’t find a proper flight suit? There had to be warm, fire resistant clothes elsewhere that she could track down and wrap herself in, even if they weren’t pressure resistant. Her rank and insignia could be pinned onto anything.

Only she didn’t really have the time, credits, or inclination to go shopping.

 _Kriff_ , she thought. There was a jab from Spectre -7.

“Not you,” she said soothingly, brushing her hand over her swell.

Chopper chirped. “People are going to think you’re insane.”

“They already think that, Chop.”

And then he asked, “Who’s Lieutenant Bey?”

Hera smiled. “She’s ...a friend.”

Chopper made a whirring noise that didn’t mean anything except maybe an expression of irritation. Insulted by the idea that she needed friends outside of him, and maybe the other Spectres, but mostly only him.

She brushed a hand over his dome.

“I gotta find out where she is, first. You can come along.”

She went first to command, and discovered that Green Squadron was running a simulation. After their sim, she was told that they had some R&R due. Hera had the clearance to hang around; she ran reports on supply runs on her datapad to pass the time.

She glanced up at the scores on the sim from time to time, though, and Green -4, Shara, was a hell of a pilot.

Eventually, the A-Wing pilots completed their sim, and the rowdy starpilots spilled out in the corridor. A few offered Hera salutes as they passed her.

Shara caught her eye and hung back. Her dark hair was caught in a loose braid, her eyes as warm as they were a few nights ago.

“Nice to see you, General.”

Hera waved a hand. “It’s just Hera. We’re both off duty. And I have a favor to ask.”

Shara’s gaze was steady. “You outgrew your flight suit.”

Too clever by half. “Yes,” Hera admitted. “And the rest of my clothes won’t hold out much longer.”

Shara nodded. “Well, I don’t have a ton of maternity clothes, but you’re welcome to them.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

Chop muttered about organics changing their bodies all the time and rolled along behind the two women.

“Don’t mind him,” Hera said. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

Chop uttered a threat about harm and to whom it would come to. Hera shook her head.

Shara laughed. “It’s alright. He’s become a bit of a legend. Wasn’t your old base named for him?”

“Don’t remind him, he’ll be even more unbearable.”

Shara was one of the few folks living off the base; she and her husband were renting a small house. “My dad’s mostly watching Poe, though. Kes and I don’t have reliable schedules. And of course, they’re ready to move any time. Command has promised that in an emergency, civilians are the first to be evacuated.”

“How did you get your dad to help?’ Hera asked.

Shara shrugged. “He actually offered. He retired a few years ago and has been bored. Once we reach a few more milestones, he might take Poe back to Abhean. That’s where we’re from.”

Hera thought of Cham. Retirement? Him? She brought her left hand to her right shoulder and swallowed a sigh. She expected Chopper to chime in, but he remained quiet for now.

“You have a good network,” Hera said.

“Yeah, we’re pretty lucky,” Shara replied. They had reached her home, she palmed open the door and led the way inside.

“I’m back,” she called softly, in case Poe was asleep.

“Back here!” came the reply.

“Come through,” Shara invited, and Hera and Chopper followed her back to the kitchen where two men were orbiting around a tiny baby. “Everyone, this is Hera Syndulla. Hera, this is my husband, Kes Dameron, and this is my father, Jasha.”

Both men waved at her, offered greetings. Shara had Jasha’s warm brown eyes. Kes was tall, dark, and handsome, his arms were holding a tiny bundle of baby, balancing a bottle expertly.

But the baby, hearing his mother, pushed the nipple away and reached for her.

“And this is Poe,” Shara said. She was smiling, her warm eyes full of light.

“The real deal is here,” Kes said with a laugh to his little boy.

Shara reached up and took the baby from Kes’ arms before he could start fussing.

“I’m going to finish up his lunch,” Shara said. “And then we can look through my clothes. They might not be your style, but they’ll do.”

“No chance of a flight suit?” Hera asked.

“Ha! I wish. But I had to stop flying immediately. I’m surprised you’re still allowed to pilot the _Ghost,_ ” she said, sitting down and unzipping the flight suit. The soft shirt she wore underneath was easily pulled down by Poe’s grasping hand. Kes settled next to his wife and son.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Jasha Bey asked her.

“If it’s no trouble,” Hera said.

“Of course not,” he said with a grin. “I’ll brew us a pot of tea, and see if I can dig out some sweet biscuits.”

“Can I help?” Hera offered, but she was immediately refused.  

Instead she sat at the little table, Chopper stationed behind her.

Their little family was warm and happy. She liked their gentle teasing, their obvious comfort around each other. And Poe was _loud_ , grunting and smacking and gurgling and snorting. It had been awhile since Hera had been around a being so young.

Hera had so many questions she didn’t feel she could ask. Personal questions, like _Why_ , and _How,_ and _Did you do this on purpose because he’s so small, anything could happen to him_.

She didn’t know how to answer her own questions.  

“Do you want to hold him?” Shara asked when she had burped him. “He might stay awake, he’s a bit more active these days. It’ll give me a chance to get changed.”

“Oh! Alright.” Shara settled Poe in her arms, and Hera felt Specter -7 push out.

It had been awhile since she held a baby, and never a human child. He was warm and _fuzzy_ in her arms, but not so different from a baby twi’lek. He was starting to hold his own head up, but she was careful to keep him nestled against her. Hera held Poe gently, rocked him slowly, curling around him on her lap.

“He likes to be bounced,” Kes said. “But I can’t recommend that right after he eats.”

Hera laughed. “No, probably not. He’s a sweetheart, though.” And he was. He smiled and cooed at everyone, waved clumsily at Chopper, and tried to play with her fingers as she held him fast. His skin was a bit darker than his mother’s, not quite so dark as Kes’s. He had Shara’s warm eyes, though, and a shock of dark hair.

 _Oh_ , she thought. Hers might have hair. What does one do with hair? The _literal alien baby_ feeling was back.

She feathered her fingers over Poe’s. It was soft like the rest of him, with tight, tight curls.

“Yeah, and he gets stronger every day,” Kes said proudly.

“Oh, yes,” Jasha said. “He’s excellent at tummy time. Building up those muscles.”

Shara came back in, wearing a loose fitting dress and a smile.  “Okay come on back, I’ve laid out all my stuff on the bed.”

Hera stood and went to give Poe back to his caretakers.

“Nah, you hold on to him, then I can help Jasha clean up,” Kes said. “Besides, he likes you.”

Poe was curled against her chest, almost protectively.

“Alright, Poe,” she said, pulling his dense weight more firmly against her. “You can help me pick out an outfit."

“Please, they’re all yours as far as I’m concerned,” Shara said, leading her back to her bedroom. Chopper still followed, a little metal shadow that was unusually quiet.

Shara hadn’t been kidding; there wasn’t a lot to choose from, a few dresses, mostly trousers and shirts. One long duster in a charcoal gray. There were a few wide support belts that Shara had worn when she was exercising. Everything was clean, utilitarian, it all matched so she could wear endless combinations. Just looking at them, Hera missed her orange flight suit. None of it looked particularly flight-worthy.

But the generosity of spirit was humbling.

“This was my favorite,” Shara said, picking up a pair of trousers. “The ones with the elastic in the waist... trust me. You’ll thank every god for them.”

Hera laughed. “Some of these look a little big.”

It was Shara’s turn to laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll grow into them. Most of them were hand-me-downs when I got them, but they’ve all stood the test.”

Shara began rolling the garments. “Let me get a bag for you. Whatever you don’t wear, pass on to the next pregnant person you meet.” She ducked out.

“How many pregnant people do you know in the rebellion?” Hera asked Poe, who was starting to blink heavily.  

“Oh sweetie,” she said quietly to him, and began to rock him gently. She let herself sit on the bed, trusting Shara not to mind. Poe yawned and sighed, his breath milky. He smelled clean, and he was so trusting. Everyone who had ever held this little boy had loved him.  

Hera’s heart could break in this moment, she was sure.

“Back,” Shara said.

“He’s falling asleep,” Hera said quietly.

“Kes was right, he loves you already.” Shara grinned. “He’s got a thing for pilots, only don’t tell Kes.”

Hera returned sleepy Poe who fussed at being moved and then settled in his mother’s arms. She accepted the bag of clothes.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Shara said kindly as Hera wished everyone in the house well, and then retraced her steps back to the _Ghost._

Her left hand rubbed at her right shoulder, as she fell deep into thought. Chop had the bag of clothing balanced on his dome.

Chopper interrupted her. “Is that breastfeeding? What Lieutenant Bey was doing?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

“And you’ll do that with Spectre -7?” he confirmed.

“Yes, I planned on it.”

He sighed, in his own way. “Organics are so weird.”

Hera swallowed a smile. Chop was quiet the rest of the way, opening the _Ghost_ ’s ramp before they arrived and rolled up.

Hera turned to look over her shoulder, listening for the whisper birds. Touching her left hand to her right shoulder again she followed her droid into her ship, where Zeb was cooking; she could smell the spices.

She closed the ramp against the humidity she could barely feel.

***

 

She is up on the starboard wing of the _Ghost_ \- ostensibly scrubbing away some carbon scoring from their last run, but mostly just going through the motions. The heat and humidity rolls off her, as if she is made of ice. She’s listening to the whisper birds; there’s probably a briefing she needs to go to, or a party, or a battle. She isn’t sure.

And then the whisper birds start to say her name, “ _Hera Hera Hera Syndulla_....”

She shakes her head, blinks her eyes, takes off her goggles and cap so she can hear properly. Night is falling around her.

“ _Hera Syndulla,_ ” the voice says again and it’s not whisper birds at all....

“ _I’ve got you, Hera._ ”

And here is Kanan. If it’s a dream, or the Force, or just grief, she’s not sure.

“I don’t like dreaming about the dead,” she tells him blankly.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She isn’t sure what to say to that, so she just looks at him. He stares back, seeing her as she takes him in. Tall, dark hair pulled back in a tail (long again, why had he cut it that day?). Blue, blue eyes consider her seriously, but there is the old familiar smirk playing around his lips. His nose crooked as ever, his face ruddy, as if suffering with everyone else in the humidity of Yavin 4. He brushes a hand over her right shoulder before his arms close around her and she steps into him, their child in her caught between them.

He leans down to kiss her, the press and slide as familiar as anything and she wants him, even now when she knows she is dreaming. She wants him next to her, always. She wants him to catch their child when they are born.

He pulls away again, bumping his forehead gently against hers, and she knows she will wake soon.

“Ask for the help you need, Hera,” he tells her.

“I need _you_ ,” she admits. “I need Ezra back. I need....”

He smiles at her, so sadly. “Ezra’s not here,” he says.

“ _Good_ ,” she replies. “No offense.”

The smirk is back. He shifts to kiss her again, briefly this time. “I mean it, Hera.”

And then the whisper birds start to say her name, “ _Hera Hera Hera Syndulla_....”

She woke up again, her arms empty, the memory of Kanan’s kiss on her mouth.

And she _still_ hadn’t told him about the baby. _Kriff!_

Hera was so angry at herself that she hurled her tired body out of her bunk and into the dim corridor. She meant what she told him, she hated being haunted in dreams by the ghosts of her past, and if she’s dreaming of Kanan, he’s in her past and that was _unacceptable_ , because he left her with so much unsaid between them and so much work to do.

She pushed up to the cockpit, not sure what to do what she got there, but some of the lights on the control panel needed to be replaced. She commed Chop to meet her there.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he admonished.

She didn’t bother with an answer, throwing her comlink up on the control panel. Hera started loosening the cover so she could get at the switches.

Chop came in, _whump-_ ing indignantly for ignoring him.

“Stop whining and get my hydrospanner.” Her words had an uncharacteristic bite to them. Nothing she could do about it right now.

Chop chirped something that sounded like a sarcastic, “Yes, Captain.” He rolled out again, to the tool storage in the cargo bay. Why didn’t they keep handier tools up here in the cockpit? She’d deal with that later. For now, Hera was having a little trouble forcing the panel open. It finally came off with a satisfying _pop_.

She was shaking with emotion, anger, as her fingers tangled in the wires, looking for loose connections or a fried line, anything that might be the cause of her _kriffing_ panel lights not working.

She heard Chopper’s wheels on the deck, coming towards the cockpit, and then Zeb’s heavy footfalls behind him. Fine. She could put Zeb to work too. The fuel lines on the _Phantom II_ were due to be checked.

“Hera,” he said, to her back.

“What?” she gritted out, tension rolling off her in almost palpable waves. The stupid sleep scarf she had tied around the roots of her lekku was tickling her neck. Irritated, she reached up and pulled it off. Not caring that Zeb was behind her.

He took in a breath. He’d never seen her without a headcover before.

Hera didn’t care about her own modesty right now. She shoved her hands back in the panel, and then cried out and recoiled when she got a nasty shock for her trouble.

Collapsed back on her ass and shoving her fingers in her mouth, she kicked out at the bulkhead of the _Ghost_.

“Hera!” Zeb was behind her in a second. “ _Karabast_. You didn’t shut off the power before trying that?”

Chop rolled away again, chirping about the burns kit.

She pulled her fingers out of her mouth. It wasn’t too bad, just stinging, tingling a lot. Spectre -7 was still, sleeping maybe. Ride or die when their mother was doing something reckless. Good to know.

“I was trying to fix the lights,” Hera offered.  

Zeb wrapped his paw around her wrist and pulled her hand closer to inspect the damage on her fingertips.

“I don’t think we’ll need the burns kit, at least,” he offered. “No damage.”

“It was just a shock,” Hera said quietly.

And then she was crying again, sobbing  _stupid stupid so stupid_ against Zeb’s chest. And when had he pulled her close?

He rubbed her back. “You’re not stupid, Hera.”

“I know _I’m_ not!” she said pulling back to glare at him. “ _Kanan_. It’s stupid that he’s _dead_! That Ezra’s not here! It’s stupid that those lights went out.”

Really, it was stupid that she was crying _again_. She didn’t know she had that much water in her body.

Zeb nodded seriously. “Absolutely stupid.”

Hera scrubbed her hands over her face. Then reached out with her uninjured hand to the panel she’d kicked. “Sorry,” she told the _Ghost_. She rested her hand on Zeb’s fur, so soft under her fingers. “Sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. Zeb picked up her headscarf and offered it to her.

She wound it around the base of her lekku, the soft material comforting against her skull.

“Maybe I was being a _little_ stupid,” she admitted. She pulled a sleeve over her cheeks to wipe her tears and snot. Gross.  

Zeb bit back a laugh. “Grief makes idiots of us all.”

She leaned into his shoulder and they sat together as the grating dug into their backsides. Desperate for something, even discomfort.

“I didn’t mean to get angry.”

Zeb shrugged. “I don’t know, it seems right to me. I’m pissed at Kanan too. And Ezra.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Hera suggested.

“Nah, more like, why couldn’t they have seen a different solution?”

She felt better about the anger thrumming under her skin. That Zeb was angry too justified her, validated her. Maybe even soothed her.

“Don’t leave me, Zeb,” Hera said. “I don’t want to be mad at you, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sticking with you until-”

“Good.” She cut him off. “I’m gonna need you to teach the principles of the Honor Guard to Spectre -7.”

“As long as I don’t have to share a bunk with the kid.”

Hera knocked a shoulder into him. “I actually thought about putting them in ...Kanan’s. Have Sabine paint it up for them.”

Zeb got to his feet and pulled her up, and they settled in the chairs, chatting back and forth as they made small plans. Nothing too daunting, they were too tired and too mad. Zeb teased her about calling the baby Spectre -7 and suggested a few Lasat names. Told her next time she got this angry, there was a punching bag in the base gym.

Chopper came back in at some point with the burns kit and a suggestion they should call the baby Chopper Jr.

They were going to be exhausted later, and she was going to have to fix the lights properly. At least Zeb can drink all the caf he wants, and _that_ was irritating. She’s still going to put him onto the _Phantom II_ ’s fuel lines. But for now, Hera’s rage settled down. She rested her left hand on her right shoulder, wrapped her right arm over Spectre -7. They breathed together as the sun rose over Yavin 4.

 

***

 

“Would your Spectres be interested in a mission, General Syndulla?” Mon Mothma held her back at the end of a meeting to unify rebel cells. They had discussed options and strategies, as well as which cells would be welcome, and which cells would not.

“What did you have in mind, Senator?” Hera tucked her datapad under her arm and shifted her weight back and forth, trying to hide her exhaustion. The movement rocked the baby to sleep, they were often still for most of the day. Of course, that meant they were most active when _she_ was trying to sleep.

“I understand you were originally affiliated with Bail Organa’s cell? I wonder if you might like to visit him on Crait?”

“What would my agenda be? I imagine it’s not a social call.” She caught herself resting her hand on her stomach. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands off of it.

Mothma smiled. “It was his idea, actually. He thought you might be able to make recommendations for bringing his cell to Yavin.”

“That would be an excellent way to show solidarity,” Hera agreed. And it wasn’t as if she was getting any missions these days. A lot had changed in the ten weeks since she’d outgrown her flight suit, she doubted she could even get in the cockpit of an X-wing. “When would you like us to leave?”

“Fairly soon. You’d be welcome to take an escort fighter. Perhaps Mart Mattin?”

“Actually, would you mind if I asked Lieutenant Shara Bey of Green Squadron?” It had been a busy month since she saw her new friend. Mart was fun, but he’d be bored on this trip.

Mon Mothma cocked her head to the side and studiously avoided dragging her eyes to Hera’s bump.

“If you like. I’ll see to it that Green Squadron is informed.” She passed a datachip. “Your coordinates and credentials, General. See that this is destroyed as soon as you’re planetside.”

“Thank you, Senator. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave.”

Mon Mothma nodded. “And I’ll let Senator Organa know when to expect you. Although I recommend you get some sleep before you go.”

Mon Mothma was a puzzle, she often seemed at though she lived on pedestal, untouchable in her smooth Core world accent and her traditionally all-white clothing from Chandrila. But Hera knew her well enough to not be fooled; Mothma was passionate about her causes, often supporting Hera when she called for direct strikes against the Empire. She was warm, unwilling to waste a single life if she didn’t have to, taking a personal interest in those around her.

There were so many ways the Rebellion differentiated itself from the Empire - this was one of the best. Hera couldn’t feel like a cog in a wheel here, not when High Command noticed so much about the beings that joined their cause.

She really could use the nap, though.

Hera’s mouth twisted in a dour smile. “I’ll try, Senator.”

The hatch opened to a waiting Chopper, her escort around the base since she started really showing. No amount of “I’m fine, Chop” would dissuade him. His one concession was to wait outside of classified meetings.

“C’mon, we have a mission.”

“What? Are you sure that’s safe for Spectre -7?”

Hera rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s not a strike, we’re going to visit another Rebel Base.” She held out the datachip. “Protocol three.” Chop reached out an arm and tucked it in his most secure storage container. She was the only one who could access it again, and if anyone else tried, Chopper was authorized to destroy the chip.

She sent a comm to Shara Bey to expect the reassignment then followed Chopper back to the _Ghost_.

And then she took a nap - a brief, light sleep with her hands over the baby. They rippled against her like a Plavonian starfish. Hera didn’t dream, exactly, it was more like foggy fantasies that drifted around her mind as she rested her eyes. Her baby was playful, and she was content, even if they were playing with her organs and preventing her from any deep sleep.

But soon enough, her alarm went off, urging her back on her feet. She would rest again on Crait. Rex was there - it would be nice to see him. Her family was spread across the stars, she wanted for the day when they were safely gathered in. But that would only happen when they found Ezra.

Hera pushed the thought from her mind.

The baby settled down as Hera prepped. “You really do need a name,” she told them, pulling on her pants again, the stretchiest pair.

Hera checked her comm, sent a message to Shara who answered that she was ready to go any time. They confirmed a rendezvous, sent a message with the details to Senator Mothma. She sent a message to Zeb who was already on board. She touched the Kalikori gently on its place of pride on her locker.

“Alright, kid, let’s go.” She stepped out into the corridor and after grabbing a canteen and a ration bar from the galley, made her way to the cockpit where Zeb and Chopper waited for her in the co-pilot’s chair.

They went through the preflight checks, Chopper plugged into the mainframe and Shara taxied over.

“Lieutenant Bey, nice to see you!” 

Shara wiggled her flaps on her A-wing in salute. “Likewise, General!”

“Sending coordinates for the first jump. Protocol 86 dash 3.” Shara would have to wipe the coordinates from the memory banks of her navi-computer as soon as they exited their hyperlane. Then she’d get the next set of coordinates from Hera and they’d jump again. Three jumps in all.  

“Copy that.”

They finished up their preflight checks and were cleared for takeoff by control.

“Let’s go get some stardust on our wings!” Shara said, her voice thrumming with excitement.

They were still in contact through their hyperspace lane, though messages were delayed as they scrambled through their systems.

“When was the last time you left atmo?” Shara asked.

“Hmm, it’s been a bit. I don’t keep a flight log anymore. Three standard weeks?”

“Glad I could be along for this one, General.”

“No need for you to be so formal, if it’s unofficial chatter.”

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” Zeb said, interrupting. “Call if there’s trouble.”

“Alright. Chop’s here,” Hera waved him out.

The commline was still open, and Shara crackled over it. “How are you feeling, Spectre -2?”

“Mmm. Better for the stardust, as you say.” Hera leaned back. She had a new lumbar cushion to support her tired back. It was nice to have it, though she hadn’t asked Zeb where he found it.

“Yeah,” Shara said. “It’s nice to get away.”

“If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?” Hera asked.  

“Abhean,” she replied without hesitation. “Dad and Poe moved back there two weeks ago _for the duration_. Kes and I are back on the base. We couldn’t stand to be in the house without them.”

“I’m sorry, Green -4,” Hera said. She rested a hand over her baby bump. Guilt shot through her - she hadn’t thought that far ahead. And the baby was probably halfway through their gestation, according to the meddroids.

“He... we planned on him. It started as a joke. But it wasn’t a mistake,” Shara said, steel in her voice. “The joke wasn’t very funny when we had to say goodbye.”

“I can appreciate that,” Hera said.

“Yeah?”

“I had to... well. I didn’t get to say goodbye,” Hera said. “To their father.”

Shara waited, holding a silence that stretched like the stars outside their windscreens.

Somehow, it was easier to talk like this, where no one could see her face. Chopper was behind her, in low power mode. Probably listening, but letting her talk, or not talk, about Kanan.

“Mine wasn’t planned. We took precautions, and my partner is, was, human. The chances were supposed to be slim anyway.”

“But?”

Hera smiled. “But. I wanted to keep them both. The baby’s been a trooper though. And... it’s nice to think that a piece of their dad is still here, in our child.”

“That sounds really hard,” Shara soothed.

“It feels really selfish, sometimes. Their life is not going to be easy. I still can’t quite picture... a life outside the Rebellion. How could I bring a child into this?”

“I agonize over that too,” Shara admitted.

“Care to talk about it?” Hera leaned forward, closer to the speaker.

Shara exhaled. “ _Kriff_ , I don’t know. I _wanted_ to be selfish. The Empire takes so much, the Rebellion asks so much and we’re happy to give. But we wanted something _ours_. And maybe that’s selfish, but when I look at Poe, I can’t help thinking that we did something right. Even if the worst happens, the best of us is... beyond us.” Her voice wavered at the end of her speech.

Hera found herself wiping her own tears away. The pair fell silent for a minute.

“Coming up on our point, Lieutenant,” Hera said, clearing her throat and returning to her controls, all business. “Keep an eye out for pirates, parasites, and Imperials.”

“Copy that, General.”

Mercifully, the point was clean, only stars around them. Hera and Chopper transmitted the second set of coordinates, and they jumped again.

“I dream about him sometimes,” Hera said.

“The baby?”

“My partner. I hate dreaming about my dead. And he knew that. It messes up my whole day.” She paused. “But I’m pretty messed up right now anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Shara offered.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t mind dreaming of mine,” Shara said quietly. “I dreamed I got to show Poe to my mother when he was born. She died two years ago. It was nice to see her again.”

Hera didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t believe Shara wasn’t really seeing her mother, just as young Hera wasn’t telling the birds her news to pass it on to her brother. But she didn’t want to take it away from her. Maybe she didn’t actually want to lose her dreams of Kanan after all. “I lost my mother too. I have so many questions I wish I could ask her. Things I’d rather hear from her than a meddroid.”

“Well, I don’t know much about twi’leks,” Shara admitted. “But you can ask me about the human bits.”

Hera laughed. “The thing that scares me most about that is the _hair!_ ”

Shara laughed too. “I can help with hair. Is there someone else you can ask? Your dad, maybe? Extended family?”

“ _Karabast_ ,” Hera said. “Maybe if I needed advice on what _not_ to do.”

“Oof, sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. But I’ve been holding off telling him.”

“I wouldn’t recommend waiting too much longer,” Shara said. “If you want him to know, that is.”

Hera bit her lip. “Yeah, I do. Family’s family. But I don’t want to turn into him. He raised me on a battlefield too.” And suddenly, she felt some awareness shift - Cham Syndulla’s righteous fury had been a part of her childhood. _Oh_ , she thought of her angry kick to the _Ghost_ those weeks ago. She ran her hand gently over her control panels. _Anger, fear_ , it all ran together. She had always known, but she felt understanding for the first time. Okay, okay, message received. Hera now rubbed her hand at her right shoulder. She couldn’t repeat the mistakes of the past.

“As if I needed a reason to hate the Empire more,” Shara was saying.

“Clone Wars, actually.” Hera anchored herself back in the conversation, with a promise to deal with her anger later and focus on this conversation.

“Same shadow, different caster. It’s all war and greed at the end of the day.”  

Hera could hear bitterness in her voice, too. Luckily, it was time to change the subject. “Ready for point two, Lieutenant?”

“Ready, General.”

“Same as before, keep a sharp eye out, we won’t be here long.”

The point was as spotless as the first. There was a nearby nebula and the colors were stunning, even as she was hurrying to reset the _Ghost_ ’s controls. Hera hoped their luck would hold, skirting the edges of the Outer Rim as they were. She transmitted the third set of coordinates to Shara, and they made their final jump.

As soon as they were back in the hyperspace lane, Hera said, “Ever been to Crait?”

“No - what do I need to know?”

“We’re coming in over salt flats, stay as high as you can for as long as you can - the salt eats everything. We’re heading straight for a pressurized bay. It’ll keep out the worst. Follow my lead.”

“Copy that, General. And thanks for telling me, I hate flying blind.”

“You did great, Green -4. If there are no available beds on the base, you’re welcome to bunk down on the _Ghost_. Or even if there are beds. Spectre -5 won’t mind.”

“That would be nice,” Shara said.

Hera could hear Zeb’s footfalls coming towards the cockpit. She pitched her voice a little louder.

“I’ll warn you, though. Spectre -4 snores.”

The hatch opened. “Heard that,” Zeb said, passing her a sandwich.

“You were meant to,” Hera said.

Shara’s laugh crackled across the comms. She backed off the conversation, and accepted the bunk with casual grace. They’d finish their trains of thought later. Or not. Or Hera will find a new path forward. And Shara will back her up.

Hera checked their trajectory as she ate her sandwich, the ration bar forgotten. She finished her water. Zeb was chatting easily with Shara, who’s replies sounded like they came around a ration bar of her own.

They were nearly there, Senator Organa would be waiting for her. They’d talk about logistics, she’d ask about his daughter. He’d no doubt ask about her child. And then she was going to hug Rex and, hopefully, catch some sleep. Chopper would destroy the datachip. Zeb would recon the mess hall for anything fit to eat.

“Alright,” she said, easing out of hyperspace, Shara in formation under her wing. Hera transmitted their credentials to the base. “Follow my lead. It’s just like threading a needle.”

“I didn’t know you sew, General!” Shara teased.

Hera thought of her family, the ripped threads she was trying to draw back together. “Only out of necessity, Green -4. Now let’s go join this party.”

 

***

 

She is up on the starboard wing of the _Ghost_ \- ostensibly scrubbing away some carbon scoring from their last run, but mostly just going through the motions. The heat and humidity sinks deeply into her skin, making her sweat. She’s listening to the whisper birds; there’s probably a briefing she needs to go to, or a party, or a battle. She isn’t sure.

And then the whisper birds start to say her name, “ _Hera Hera Hera Syndulla_....”

She shakes her head, blinks her eyes, takes off her goggles and cap so she can hear properly. Night is falling around her.

“ _Hera Syndulla,_ ” the voice says again and it’s not whisper birds at all....

“ _I’ve got you, Hera._ ”

And here is Kanan. If it’s a dream, or the Force, or just grief, she’s not sure.

“I’m pregnant,” she tells him, before she can fail again.

“I know. And I wish I could be there in the way you need. The way he needs.”

She isn’t sure what to say to that, so she just looks at him. He stares back, seeing her as she takes him in. Tall, dark hair pulled back in a tail (long again, why had he cut it that day?). Blue, blue eyes consider her seriously, but there is the old familiar smirk playing around his lips. His nose crooked as ever, his face ruddy, as if suffering with everyone else in the humidity of Yavin 4. He brushes a hand over her right shoulder before his arms close around her and she steps into him, their son in her caught between them.

He leans down to kiss her, the press and slide as familiar as anything and she wants him, even now when she knows she is dreaming. She wants him next to her, always. She wants him to catch their child when he is born.

He pulls away again, bumping his forehead gently against hers, and she knows she will wake soon.

“He?”

Kanan just smiles. “I love you, both of you.”

“I wanted to keep you both, love.”

“That would have been preferable,” he said. A smile like his smirk played around his lips. “But I can _see_ you. I can see you _both_. Ask for the help you need, I promise it will be okay. More than okay.”

She nods, tearing up. Trusting him. He always made it okay, didn’t he? Why would now be any different?

Even if this is only a dream. She wants him to promise that she’ll keep dreaming of him, but she doesn’t like dreaming of her dead.

“I love you,” she says. _I need to tell you something_ , she told him then. “I’m scared, and you changed everything, and I’m kind of mad at you.”

The smirk is back. He shifts to kiss her again, briefly this time. “I love you, too.”

And then the whisper birds start to say her name, “ _Hera Hera Hera Syndulla_....”

She came back to herself slowly. She felt peaceful, rested even. Calm. The way he made her feel in life. Hera ran her hand over Spectre -7, imagining a _him_ , a little boy. She tried to jigsaw features together, but couldn’t. He remained a mystery, even to her. He kicked out against her hands, then continued swimming around, testing the limits of their shared space.

She’d comm Sabine later, back on Lothal. And then she’d see about cooking something for Zeb -- he’d put up with a lot from her the past few months, it was definitely her turn in the galley. Chop needed an oil bath to get rid of Crait’s salt and his chassis polished before it began to rust in Yavin’s humidity. Hera needed to rely on her friends, ask for help. And something in her needed to care for them too. Her son was to be born into this web.

But for now, instead of getting up, she hung onto the feeling of calm. She wrapped her left hand over her right shoulder and her right arm over her son. Hera rolled over, and fell back to a dreamless sleep.


End file.
